through the phone, “this is the best news I’ve heard all morning!” She felt she might jump out of her skin with excitement. “Are you sure it’s okay? I mean, I don’t want to impose on your family.”
“Aye lass, don’t you worry on that account. They are dyin’ to have you. In fact, me sister Lottie is lookin’ forward to having a bonny lass about.”
“I don’t know what to say! I can hardly believe it! Thank you.”
“No need for thanks. Now, I’ll be lettin’ you get back to your dreams. Can you come round this afternoon to discuss the particulars?”
“Of course, I can. Thank you, Mr. Scott, thank you so much!”
Falling back into the pillows, she conjured drowsy images of the family Mr. Scott never mentioned. She imagined Lottie to be the spitting, feminine image of her brother: short, conservative, neatly curled hair, soft hands, and kind words. She pictured Lucas: probably mid-forties, scrawny, short like the rest of the family, a no-nonsense businessman.
“AAAHHHHHH! Are you ready to sweat ?!”
Katie shot up, ready to inflict damage on the effeminate screamer who’d somehow snuck into her bed. Then came the familiar loud thump followed by the heavy tha-dump-da, tha-dump-da, tha-dump-da hoomphs.
Ah crap. Richard Simmons again. She dropped face-first into her pillow. At least he wasn’t really in her bed. Afraid her quirky REM cycle would brandish unpleasant Stanley Speedo scenarios into her brain, she forced herself up, comforter bound tightly around her, and waddled into the kitchen.
Desperate for a distraction from the sounds upstairs, she reached for her laptop, still sitting open on the table. No sooner had she logged onto the Internet when she heard the familiar zzzwwwwiiish of Skype coming to life. The clock at the bottom corner of her screen glowed with a time that no one should ever have to see on weekend mornings. Hallelujah for friends on the East Coast, she cheered silently before pushing the little green phone icon to call Dylan, who appeared to be online.
She saw his image—wrapped in an old flannel robe, hovering over a cup of coffee—before she heard his voice. She loved video calling. “Katie, is everything okay?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because it’s Sunday morning and you’re up before ten. Of course, judging by that lovely bedspread you’re wearing, you’re not exactly up.”
“Stanley Speedo is off to an early start this morning. Plus, I have some exciting news to tell you.”
Dylan listened, nodding his head, as she told him all about her internship plans and her most recent conversation with Mr. Scott. “Not that I’m not happy for you, but have you thought about how you’re going to afford living in England?”
Of course this would be Dylan’s reaction. “No, not really,” she admitted. “I have a little bit of savings.”
“Not enough. Plus, you’ll need your savings when you return home. It’ll take some time to get back on your feet.”
“Why do you always have to put a realistic damper on everything?” She laughed, too excited to be discouraged.
He grinned at her impetuosity.
“Fine, I guess it won’t kill me to do some financial planning.”
“Would you like me to help?”
“Yay! Thanks Dylan, you’re the best.”
“No problem. Call me back once you’ve got your money situation figured out and I’ll come up with a realistic budget for you.”
Katie’s stomach hit the floor at the word. “Budget?”
Her financial situation, which resembled more of a loose-leaf folder than a portfolio, was not as promising as Katie would have hoped. With the closing of two properties she had under contract, she would be able to support herself in England if, and only if, she adhered to the terms of Dylan’s Great Depression-inspired budget. She groaned, feeling almost ill. Effective immediately, she would have to lease out her darling little condo and move into Jim and Sheila’s vacant
“Aye lass, don’t you worry on that account. They are dyin’ to have you. In fact, me sister Lottie is lookin’ forward to having a bonny lass about.”
“I don’t know what to say! I can hardly believe it! Thank you.”
“No need for thanks. Now, I’ll be lettin’ you get back to your dreams. Can you come round this afternoon to discuss the particulars?”
“Of course, I can. Thank you, Mr. Scott, thank you so much!”
Falling back into the pillows, she conjured drowsy images of the family Mr. Scott never mentioned. She imagined Lottie to be the spitting, feminine image of her brother: short, conservative, neatly curled hair, soft hands, and kind words. She pictured Lucas: probably mid-forties, scrawny, short like the rest of the family, a no-nonsense businessman.
“AAAHHHHHH! Are you ready to sweat ?!”
Katie shot up, ready to inflict damage on the effeminate screamer who’d somehow snuck into her bed. Then came the familiar loud thump followed by the heavy tha-dump-da, tha-dump-da, tha-dump-da hoomphs.
Ah crap. Richard Simmons again. She dropped face-first into her pillow. At least he wasn’t really in her bed. Afraid her quirky REM cycle would brandish unpleasant Stanley Speedo scenarios into her brain, she forced herself up, comforter bound tightly around her, and waddled into the kitchen.
Desperate for a distraction from the sounds upstairs, she reached for her laptop, still sitting open on the table. No sooner had she logged onto the Internet when she heard the familiar zzzwwwwiiish of Skype coming to life. The clock at the bottom corner of her screen glowed with a time that no one should ever have to see on weekend mornings. Hallelujah for friends on the East Coast, she cheered silently before pushing the little green phone icon to call Dylan, who appeared to be online.
She saw his image—wrapped in an old flannel robe, hovering over a cup of coffee—before she heard his voice. She loved video calling. “Katie, is everything okay?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because it’s Sunday morning and you’re up before ten. Of course, judging by that lovely bedspread you’re wearing, you’re not exactly up.”
“Stanley Speedo is off to an early start this morning. Plus, I have some exciting news to tell you.”
Dylan listened, nodding his head, as she told him all about her internship plans and her most recent conversation with Mr. Scott. “Not that I’m not happy for you, but have you thought about how you’re going to afford living in England?”
Of course this would be Dylan’s reaction. “No, not really,” she admitted. “I have a little bit of savings.”
“Not enough. Plus, you’ll need your savings when you return home. It’ll take some time to get back on your feet.”
“Why do you always have to put a realistic damper on everything?” She laughed, too excited to be discouraged.
He grinned at her impetuosity.
“Fine, I guess it won’t kill me to do some financial planning.”
“Would you like me to help?”
“Yay! Thanks Dylan, you’re the best.”
“No problem. Call me back once you’ve got your money situation figured out and I’ll come up with a realistic budget for you.”
Katie’s stomach hit the floor at the word. “Budget?”
Her financial situation, which resembled more of a loose-leaf folder than a portfolio, was not as promising as Katie would have hoped. With the closing of two properties she had under contract, she would be able to support herself in England if, and only if, she adhered to the terms of Dylan’s Great Depression-inspired budget. She groaned, feeling almost ill. Effective immediately, she would have to lease out her darling little condo and move into Jim and Sheila’s vacant
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